


Watch Out, Cupid

by slightlyjillian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Multi, romantic meddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:19:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-EW, Nichol's losing his job.  But he still has a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch Out, Cupid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alithea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alithea/gifts).



> birthday present for _stoic_rose_

"Did you get the memo?" He barged into her office with little preamble. One hand waved a paper that seemed to have been crumpled into the trash, reluctantly retrieved and spread flat again. Eventually, the document settled onto Sally's desk. Like a patient, Nichol dropped onto the nearby couch with both hands pressed against his face. Palms sealed over his eyes. Fingers tangled in dark curls.

"Rather dramatic today," Sally observed. She leaned from her seat onto her elbows. The casual posture meant to put him at ease, except he wasn't looking. He undeniably played up the theatrics.

He swung his legs back to the floor and snarled, "It's not like your job is in any danger, Chief Medical Officer. Hell, they'll probably promote you."

He waved a hand at her as if he might tangibly direct his agitation. His lip quirked into his cheek so quickly that Sally might have missed it, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. David Nichol had absolutely no skill at hiding his emotions, which was why he was always invited to play with the group on poker night. They tried not to run him too dry as to keep him coming back. Between gracious losers and generous champions, poker night bonding had repaired a lot of damaged relationships after the Gundam War.

Sally reached for the memo to confirm it was identical to the one she'd received earlier that day. Bureaucratic padding that boiled down to budget cuts, reprioritizing the military structure, and skimming down the Preventer departments. "I'm losing staff."

Nichol watched quietly, for once.

"No one's supposed to say, but," everyone knew Sally spoke her mind and freely. "This isn't about quality or performance. We've been given a numbers game. Reports are due. Who is essential, who is redundant, who we could do without if we needed dramatic cuts."

"I'm going to take the voluntary retirement."

Sally caught herself mid-sentence. Not often, but sometimes, Nichol surprised her. "You're taking the package?" Her jaw loosened around her teeth but she managed to keep her lips together. Eyes stretched wide.

"It's a lot of money." He rubbed the back of his neck. The sound of the clock punctuated the brief pause into nearly an eternal silence.

"David," she murmured.

"Don't tell me I wouldn't be one of the first left unemployed," he retorted with a shaking lilt in his tone. Then with more confidence, he continued, "I always needed a shove to do the next thing. Leave it up to me to need a situation like this to get my act together. Now, don't look at me like that, Sal. You know my name would be on the list."

"Yes, but... I would have put in a word for you." His image blurred until she blinked back the involuntary response.

He laughed, this time waving his hand as if to take back the pain he'd caused her. "No, no, Sal. I'm in the gears and bolts of this division. No one's going to mistake me for one of your medical staff."

"Well, I would have tried."

"Thanks." He swung his legs like an indulgent child as he stared at some point in the distance, to some place much farther than the wood paneled office and paper clutter of Sally's world. He might have been thinking about where he was going to go next. Although, Sally's psychological analysis qualified David Nichol as 'focused to the success of immediate tasks, no long-term goals.'

"Poker night is going to become wretchedly dull without you. If you stick around, you should come anyway." She wasn't quite sure what she was offering. His eyes owlishly blinked back to the present and stared at what he possibly considered a second head growing from her shoulder.

"Just so you and Maxwell can clean me out," he shrugged. "I didn't mind losing to you. But Dorothy made it unbearable."

"Because she couldn't keep it in check," Sally laughed. She pinched her bottom lip, losing herself in a memory. The younger woman's skin glistening from the overheated room. Smoke drifting around them carrying the enticing smell of Duo's imported cigars. The florescent green color of Trowa Barton's visor hiding the more natural color of his eyes as he dealt out the cards with a precise snapping of his wrist. A faceless mix'and'match of other Preventers that came and went on whim. "You pressed all the right buttons for her."

"What's that supposed to mean?" His laughter shook with a defensive ripple. The sound of hastily crinkled paper hiding away the printed text.

"She came because Trowa dared her. But she stayed because of you. She couldn't resist having fun with you, at your expense, but..." Sally shrugged. "You should know. Before you pack up and take off to who knows where to do who knows what." She gave him a pointed look, "Do you have a plan?"

His smile terrified her, lips pulled back like a fox as his torso bobbed. She wondered if he'd been waiting the entire time for exactly that questions. "Oh yeah."

...

Dorothy lifted her sunglasses adjusting for the darkness of the bar and to hold back the new cut of her hair. Surveying the crowd, she peered at a few faces before deciding that she must have arrived first. The music filled the room so much so that she had to shout at the bartender. She scowled toward the stage as she waited. The dancers were graceless in their movements. The musicians reckless. Young. Had she ever been as young as this indulgent new generation? Youths who could chose their schools of continuing education rather than respond to the military academy drafts. Or, for the wealthy, buying off substitutes. The bodies of poorer sons sent to survive or die in space replacing of the heirs of the aristocracy.

She shook her head to release herself from the thought loops that threatened to drag her into dark isolation. Her two years working with the news broadcasting company had been informative. Too much so in some cases. War had long lost its appeal, but the long-buried realities of it still fascinated and repulsed her sensibilities. Relena had found her former companion in a holding cell after Dorothy had physically assaulted the subject of her final interview. Dorothy recalled the last words Relena had given to her, "Perhaps you should stop watching and start doing something instead."

Advice unwanted, cliche, but never far from her thoughts. Dorothy pushed the sweat away from her upper lip. The idea, once planted, crowded the edges of every decision with uncontrollable punctuation.

"Stop observing," Dorothy spoke to herself. Nonetheless, sometimes it was so hard not to see. The band exploded into their finale extending the last chord under the shattering applause of the dancers. She moved her hands to clap, participating so far as to encourage the children to exit the stage.

Perhaps the unreliable talent of the preshow delayed the arrival of her companion. She glanced down and saw her drink gathering condensation along the glass. She pushed it along the new slickness on the counter top. The glass gliding back into its original place as her fingers let it free. She smiled, delighted.

"Hello." The quiet voice still managed to cut through the excited squawking.

Dorothy turned and without pause gave Une an enthusiastic embrace. The older woman did not yield into the contact, which Dorothy did not expect. However, the stiff pat the woman carefully measured onto Dorothy's shoulder blade triggered a girlish laugh in response.

"Lady Une!" She swallowed the measure of adoration rising in her spirit. Even after the fighting had ended and while all other delusions were mercilessly crushed from her, Dorothy maintained her few heroes. For better or worse, Treize had been one of Dorothy's obsessive loves and his Lady Une by extension. The ongoing relationship had been strained for conversation at first, but, for reasons Dorothy had yet to discover, the woman accepted every invitation Dorothy extended.

"I have something for you." Dorothy motioned toward the free seats at the bar.

"Where at?" Une raised a brow and glanced down Dorothy's form fitting dress which guaranteed an eyeful of leg as confirmed by Dorothy's full length mirror.

Dorothy tipped her head back enjoying the full release of responsive laughter. She snatched up the small purse she'd set on the bar next to her untouched drink. Unclasping the top, she pulled free a narrow box. The present had been hastily wrapped after its discovery at the antique shop on the path between her apartment and the bar. After so many trips, Dorothy had embraced the urge to go inside to browse. Successfully, in her estimation.

"Consider it an early birthday present, late for Christmas or a going away present," Dorothy hastily muttered the last, pushing the gift into Une's proximity with a hurried shake.

"Thank you," Une stated perfunctorily, with an underlying promise to say more after filling the obligation of the moment.

Dorothy restlessly nudged her glass a few times, letting it slide back into place while the Lady oh-so-slowly unwrapped what Dorothy had offered.

"A watch," Une said, sounding not displeased.

Dorothy smiled halfway, as much confidence as she could sustain without external affirmation. She knew her heart carried jagged, dependent edges. She hated those scars as much as she appreciated what they had taught her, how they left her vulnerable to hurt. And love.

"It runs on a battery," Dorothy pointed, reaching in close and catching a whiff of some pleasant smell that might have been anything, but she attributed it to the Lady. "They promised it would be good for years yet. But I can't say for sure. It didn't seem to run slow."

"It's perfect," Une interrupted, catching Dorothy's hand. She waited until Dorothy accepted the other woman's fixed gaze. "I love it."

Even without the alcohol, the younger woman never brought the amber liquid to her lips, her mood lifted as if she'd become a spirit and floated over the entire room. Dorothy might have enjoyed the rest of the evening. However, even complete disaster could not have undone the magnificent feeling of that moment.

"Start doing something," Dorothy hummed to herself.

...

Une examined the contents of her desk drawer. She pushed aside the paperclips and miscellaneous writing utensils that had been dropped inside. Not finding her signature stamp, she tested a pen instead. The ink stopped and she tossed it along with two others into the trash before finding one that held up after use.

She glanced at the name on the first request. Accepting severance, David Nichol. She signed her name to the document. He always had been an opportunistic sort. While she'd heard of no complaints from his unit or direct chain-of-command with the Preventers, she'd expressed skepticism over his original application.

Perhaps the personnel purge would knock out the questionable types. Une had been looking for a positive light for the cuts. One that she could believe herself, and not just the words she had to speak as the officer of highest rank. Giving encouragement, when she felt none. Pushing confidence in the military, when she wasn't certain what tomorrow was going to look like.

Pessimist, she accused. However, she knew how to deal with the darkness now. Balancing it with the cloud of blind optimism that had relentlessly broken her.

Her wrist dropped, the pen falling free from relaxed fingers.

The contact indented the band of the watch into her arm and Une liberated herself from the dizzying thoughts. What was the time? She caught a smile as she watched the thin metal hand busily marking the seconds.

Where was she? David Nichol.

Bemused, she shook her head and slid the paper to the left. Underneath, the next name was a member of the medical unit. Une recovered the pen and signed. A half dozen more before she dropped the pen a second time.

Dorothy Catalonia.

Une furrowed her brow. Dorothy hadn't said anything to her about resigning from the Preventers. She'd only been an adjutant for half the year since Une provided for accelerated training and a letter of recommendation. Une steepled her fingers and rested her forehead against them. Perhaps Dorothy thought her limited experience would have cost her the job.

The watch brushed against her cheek, so Une rotated her wrist to see the time. Dorothy should be taking lunch, as good a time as any to make sure the younger woman understood her position was safe.

Decided, Une left the page unsigned and walked down the stairs to the lower levels and the cafeteria. Typically, Une avoided the well populated halls. The route to the only source of food in the Preventers HQ was by far the most traveled. She smiled with the salutes until she lost count of them.

The silence of her office contrasted dramatically with the rumbles and escalation of conversation that welcomed her as she opened the door to the larger space. The simple walls and long tables did little to muffle the noise. She heard dishes clanging and clattering in the distance. Surveying the various uniforms, Une was grateful that so far she'd gone unnoticed. She willed herself to be invisible and glided near one structure supporting pole to watch for the pony tail of silver-blond hair. A small gathering of figures blocked the end of one table. She identified Duo Maxwell first as he punched two fists into the air with a triumphant shout. He balanced with one leg up on the bench.

Dorothy sometimes went out with Maxwell's crowd, so Une walked over. A brief gap between arms and bodies showed Une the person she was searching for inside the crowding of uniforms and noise.

Maxwell noticed her first. Une quickly commanded them at ease, but her presence alone caused the lower ranking officers to pull back and away into the shadows. Une forgot them as she took in the sight of the young adjutant posed for arm wrestling. With David Nichol.

Something distracted them both and Dorothy jumped back pointing at the seated man, "Cheats. He cheats."

"Easy, Dots," Maxwell cautioned. Unlike the others, he didn't retreat from Une's presence. Legend had it that during his re-acclimation process, Maxwell had cheerfully boasted that even though he'd put his Gundam into the sun he still wore the confident mantel due the God of Death. The medical officer had not documented that exact statement if it were true, although, Maxwell never denied saying it either.

Nichol stumbled against the table top as he spotted Une and struggled to his feet. His awkwardness around Une had diminished, but in that moment he acted as if caught doing something wrong. Une put that thought aside and reminded her face to not frown as default. Not where Dorothy could see.

"May I have a word with you?" She requested, not understanding the expression on Dorothy's face. Never having seen the blue eyes half-lidded or the how the slender girl leaned toward Nichol. Or the texture of voice that she used when offering him an apology followed by a promise for retribution. They were going to meet again. Later.

Une waited until Dorothy joined her, then categorically closed away the doubt. Of course, Dorothy would have relationships with the other Preventers.

"Yes, ma'am?" Dorothy made the title sound coy and strummed Une's delight like plucked harp strings.

Underneath, another of Une's personalities churned and writhed wondering if she'd seen part of Dorothy that Une would never have.

...

Sally jogged another lap around the track when the boxing stations were still occupied. The quaint fitness room had become her favorite place to unwind. Stress manifest itself as physical tension, along her shoulders and down her back. Also her left wrist, where she wore a device that could heat or cool the joint as needed.

Her braids tapped rhythms as she followed the track again. The additional distance gave her time to rethink her intentions. As much as she might like, adding punches to the wrist probably wasn't the wisest decision just then. It wouldn't do for the source of lectures on medical well being to be supporting a cast or a sling. Sally chuckled at herself and reconciled the loss with a leisurely cool down. Her muscles ached into relaxation.

When she'd showered and collected her gear, Sally found the voicemail on her phone. She paused to listen hearing Nichol's amusingly awkward recording.

"Hey, Sal. So I read my horoscope today and it said I would have a big party in my future. That invitation is still open. I promise it'll be good for you, but that's all I'm saying about that."

How he still managed to keep his secret surprised her, but his enthusiasm crackled through the message. Delaying her response further would be cruel, which Sally was not, but his request, as much of it as he'd let her know, puzzled her.

A plane ticket for an undisclosed location for some unknown purpose. If Sally didn't know better, she would have suspected that David Nichol had plotted some romantic rendezvous. Still, Sally certainly had made very clear she had no interest in changing the dynamics of their friendship. He had to have heard the rumors.

No, Nichol couldn't have romantic intentions. He'd remained practically monkish since the war. Not one accusation of harassment, sexual or otherwise, marred his record. Nichol had promised to keep straight and narrow for the Preventers and to his retirement that agreement had held true.

The same could not be said for how others treated Nichol. Oddly enough, Trowa had been the chief offender. His only excuse being that Nichol had it coming. Nichol had never reported the situations himself and when asked to elaborate on the third-party statements, Nichol had dismissed them all with a good-natured shrug. His documented statement, "I don't recall."

Sally believed him. However, she noted the comment was identical to the one on the pages of his Barge release. Had he rescued Lady Une? "I don't recall."

No medals awarded.

She redialed the call which rang through to his prerecorded answering service. Sally spoke, "I'll meet you like you asked. But you're going to owe me several refills from the top shelf."

Shaking her head, Sally settled the satchel over her shoulders. She really should have forcibly encouraged him to ask Dorothy instead, but part of her wanted to see what Nichol would do next. The better path was to always let the stubborn ones live their own lives.

...

Dorothy danced by herself. In this place, at that exact time, the music was right for it. After the three hour flight, their options had been to stay in the extravogant hotel where the staff catered to every personal whim. _Peeling grapes_ appeared on the services menu. Or, she could stretch her muscles at the nearby club calling guests in from the streets with the siren's call of melody.

On the dance floor, she stayed away from the edges preferring to indulge the sensation of strangers around her. Not everyone in the club was a stranger. Now and again the strobing lights reflected off the lens of Lady Une's glasses. The sparkle brief and brilliantly colored, just like her plan. Fleeting, imperfect, but beautiful when it landed just right. She couldn't describe the swell of hope with words. Instead, she spun around arms entwined over her head.

Without a watch she couldn't measure time, but Dorothy didn't appreciate precision the way she knew her friend did. The interest had come up in conversation. During one of the intermediary interviews, Une mentioned needing balance. Something exact, between obsessive counting and absolute disregard. Une's expression had been uncharacteristically weary which Dorothy could not miss, even for not knowing the exact references.

Fortunately, Une had understood the watch. Dorothy wanted to give her so much more. Which was when Nichol had come up with his horrible, awful, brilliant idea.

She had drifted too close to the edge. Hands caught her, stopped her movement. Dorothy prepared to complain when she recognized Nichol. His eyebrows were halfway to his hairline and one cheek seemed incapable of losing his crooked smile.

"Did she sign the papers?" he asked.

"Did she sign the papers?" Dorothy parroted him twice, increasing the disbelief on the second repeat. Of all the questions he could have asked. "No."

His cheerful demeanor slightly dimmed, "Then your resignation..."

"Isn't signed." Dorothy took pity on him and swiped his nose with her knuckle. "I could only get her to agree if I would think about taking back the paperwork. She'll understand soon enough. I couldn't just abandon her any more than you..."

"You still owe me for half the expense." Nichol's threat bore no weight even as he loomed over her. "So when the check does come through..."

"Easy there," Dorothy grinned. "I wouldn't... but then again. What fun would it be to watch you pay for the entire weekend? 'Let's squander our cash on friends', you said."

Nichol bit his lower lip, pulling it into his mouth. The scheme had no guarantee. Dorothy knew the money meant nothing to him, except for the purpose he'd assigned to it's spending. The place where Nichol had caught her out of the crowd put them in a corner free from Une's sight. Which should have kept them safe, except Nichol had obviously failed to drop his companion completely.

"Dorothy?" Sally Po draped one arm around Nichol and exclaimed again, "Dorothy. What are you doing here?"

"Popular place?" Dorothy shrugged. "I thought I'd take a weekend..."

Sally's watchful expression caused pain for the intense cut of her scrutinizing gaze. Then relief came when Sally turned to Nichol instead, "Let's dance."

"Oh no," Dorothy scrambled to redirect their arrow for the proper target. "This dance is mine. But if you want to have company, you'll know someone at the bar."

"Lost your dancing partner?" Sally chuckled.

"She doesn't..." Dorothy was at a loss what to say. She dependently gripped Nichol's sleeve. "I'll dance with him."

"Sure," laughed Sally, with her increasingly irritating wink.

"Why are we doing this?" Dorothy commented bitterly, pulling Nichol into a pointless spin so she could watch the reaction of their friends.

"Because we both decided it was time to move on and we didn't want to leave them lonely." Nichol replied, twisting them again so he had the advantage. And the height, if Dorothy wanted to be honest.

"Dammit, what's happening?" Dorothy fought his grip, struggling until she elbowed an innocent bystander with excessive force.

Nichol glanced down at her. Faces too close, she could see every eyelash, Dorothy looked at his shoulder instead. His collar popped. Dorothy would have fixed the embarrassing mess except that somehow he'd immobilized her arms.

"Couldn't say," he responded into her ear. "Forgot my super hearing at home. Should have grabbed one of the surveillance bugs we'd put together last week."

At some point, he moved left. Dorothy stepped opposite. The music suited her and Nichol both. Dancing would kill time, and their return tickets allowed for the entire weekend.

...

"Do you know what this is?" Sally greeted her.

"I wouldn't know," Une replied. She'd been unable to stop watching the girl on the dance floor. She could hardly miss Dorothy's first, her only, partner for the evening. Although, whatever Dorothy and Nichol called dancing looked more like arm wrestling.

"I think this is what people used to call a _set up_." Sally waved away the bartender. Sally may have wanted to remain sober, Une did not.

"Then why drag us along?" Une asked. She recalled the words after speaking them then gave Sally an assessing stare. "Why you?"

"I might give Nichol some credit beyond what he deserves, but if I had to guess." Sally leaned in, shoulder to shoulder with her commanding officer. Une blinked. No, no one was on duty tonight.

Sally continued, "I think he didn't want to leave us lonely. Because I don't fall in love with men. And you don't get to have her." Sally chuckled with the exhale teasing along Une's cheek. Perhaps she should have been upset, and at Sally. But Une could appreciate the truth of the statement. Une pulled her leg back and whatever connection she thought she needed with Dorothy changed with strange ease.

"She's asked for a release," Une stated.

"I don't think either of them realize it yet," Sally explained. "She'd follow him anywhere, and he's absolutely in her thrall."

"Sounds like we have them figured out."

"What do you think they saw in us?" Sally turned, pivoting in front of Une to block the view of the younger couple. When Une didn't answer, the other woman tilted her head. "Since this weekend is on Cupid's dime, I think you need to have some fun, Lady."

Une touched the watch without looking at it. "Perhaps it's time."

_Coda:_

He almost didn't hear when Dorothy asked, "Come to my room later?"

Nearby, Sally had wrapped her arms around Une. Dancing. One hand over the Lady's eyes, as if the loss of one sensory input released the woman to indulge all her others. Nichol laughed, "Now that's hot."

Without any gentleness, Dorothy tugged his chin toward her. "What's hot?"

"You are," he amended.


End file.
